


(This is How) You Make My Heart A Hunter

by Alpha24 (an_faolchu_fuilteach)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aural Kink, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Dirty Talk, Dominant John Watson, F/M, Filthy, Filthy talk, John "Three Continents" Watson, John shags for England, Listening to your flatmate wank is kinky Sherlock, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock is a filthy beggar, Sherlock is a slight creeper, Sherlock turns the tables, Top John Watson, Voyeurism, coming in alleyways, handjobs, handjobs in dirty alleys, submissive Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_faolchu_fuilteach/pseuds/Alpha24
Summary: Sherlock likes to listen, then he finds out he likes to watch; John likes to talk filthy and make people come in alleys."I like... to listen to you," Sherlock answers, barely audible.John licks his lips, considering. "You like to listen? To what?""You. Humming, doing things around the flat. In the shower... and..." Sherlock's voice has died away and his chest is rapidly rising and falling."And?" John whispers, crowding even closer, "What else do you like to hear me do, Sherlock?" He's nearly flush against Sherlock's body and this madness seems to be transmitting through his fingertips because Sherlock is leaning closer as well...





	(This is How) You Make My Heart A Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I was an Ao3 writer called "consultingdepressive;" she wrote a bit of Sherlock fic back in 2012. This is probably my fave (because I am a filthy, dirty person with no regrets)
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not long after John moves in, Sherlock finds himself constantly watching him, cataloguing and defining. He'd been concerned about sharing space with another person, but studying John has become nearly an obsession.  He likes to watch John eat, watch him do the dishes, cluck over the state of the table buried in experiments. Watching John's emotions change is fascinating, since Sherlock so rarely indulges in this observation with someone so close, all the time. And the sounds! Humming while cleaning, singing in a wobbly baritone as he gets dressed in the morning, cursing soundly at the television when a game is on. John is a most interesting subject. Even more so when he masturbates.

Sherlock has stood at John's door a total of nine times now, creeping upstairs silently and listening as John hisses, gasps, moans. It makes the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck stand up, hearing such wanton noises coming from his friend. Intercourse is something Sherlock has experienced in the name of exploration, of course, as is masturbation. Sometimes it has been enjoyable, most of the time it has been dull. But something about the way John sounds has piqued his interest, and for the first time in... months?... Sherlock finds himself touching himself again. So far, he's masturbated in bed twelve times, on the sofa four times -- and the naughty thrill was titillating -- and in the kitchen twice. Once into John's favourite mug. He doesn't stop to question why he did this, as it makes him rather uncomfortable.

So in the last few months, sensuality and sexuality have become surprisingly, _irritatingly_ interesting again.

Sherlock also likes to watch John on the pull. It's rare that Sherlock actually "goes out" with John, but sometimes a case will require some time at a pub. While Sherlock looks around and questions people, John will often scope out the nearest attractive female. Invariably, Sherlock will find a reason to get closer to John and his conquest, so that he can hear what goes on. And invariably, Sherlock becomes aroused. John will start off amiable, friendly, casual with whomever his intended partner is. He'll play the solidly sweet role and compliment her. But as time goes on, John's voice will deepen, take on a rougher edge. It may sound alluring to John's companions, but to Sherlock it's positively a match to a fuse. John becoming something darker, something more dangerous... it sets off every new-found desire Sherlock has, the list of which has become disturbingly long and embarrassingly crude. And it's utterly maddening.

Sherlock has begun to shadow John so closely that John has finally noticed, and is decidedly unamused, "Look, you drag me in here so you can ask the questions and you wave me off when I offer to help. And then when I find someone to chat up, you loom over us like a vampire." This newest case is relatively simple and they don't really need to be here, but Sherlock wanted to come. Wanted to watch John at work, as it were, and John already has a woman lined up, waiting at the other end of the bar.

"I'm not looming, John, just staying nearby in case I need you," Sherlock answers, straight-faced. John cocks his head, unimpressed. "Oh, go on," Sherlock flaps his hand, "it's interesting to observe mating rituals, if nothing else."

"Mating ritual? Yeah, you would think that, no difference between us and pigeons. Well, give me bloody room to actually work, all right?" John retorts, downing the rest of his drink and returning to his latest paramour. Sherlock watches him go, notes the tightness of jaw and the clench of fists. John is agitated, more so than usual. He must _really_ want to have sex with this one. Sherlock watches from a farther distance, but finds himself gritting his teeth. He wants to _hear_. He wants to hear John's voice change and thicken and promise. And he hates himself for wanting it, but can't stop.

==============================================

Her name is Ann, _Sweet Annie_ , John decides, and her big blue eyes are round in a pale face framed by light brown hair. Innocent. The way he likes them when he's in moods like this. He's on edge from everything: from the case, from Sherlock's attitude, from his flippant dismissal, and this is everything he needs right now. A pretty, sweet, willing woman. _Fuck Sherlock_ , he thinks, the idea immediately followed by the idea that he’d rather like to but Sherlock made it perfectly clear from the beginning he had no interest in such things and John doesn't waste time on people not interested in him. Most of the time. It's just bloody hard with Sherlock always in his face, like a sweet denied him, all pale angles and chiaroscuro colouring and... no. Better this way. Better with this girl.

John looks over to see Sherlock watching them intently. Something about it makes the hair rise on the back of John's neck and he retaliates by crowding closer to Ann, gently tucking an errant curl behind one ear. She blushes and smiles as he tells her how pretty she is and when she suddenly leans up to kiss him, he's pleasantly surprised. Even more so a moment later when a soft tongue-tip thrusts against his lower lip. He feels it all the way down to his cock. He's just tipsy enough to feel like doing this, and as he curves his hand behind her neck to tilt her head up for a deeper kiss, he catches a glimpse of Sherlock. And Sherlock looks like he's watching a porn movie. His skin is flushed, his eyes dark, his lips slick from where he's been licking them. This time John feels it all the way down to his toes and he kisses Ann a bit more forcefully than he'd intended, startling a soft moan from her. _God_. What is Sherlock up to and why the hell is he watching like that? Already half-hard from kissing Ann, when John looks up to see Sherlock still staring, he growls, takes Ann's hand and leads her out the back. He needs this. _Now_.

He can't believe he's even doing this, but he's not stopping now. He steers Ann into the alley behind the pub, ignoring her nervous giggles. He's trying to hold himself back from just taking her, from remembering the look on Sherlock's face, and he tells himself to slow down. Gently, he pushes her against the brick wall: gently enough not to hurt or harm, but firmly enough to show he means business, to gauge her reactions. She gasps and leans her head back, baring her neck for him and it's enough for John to know how to act next. He grips her wrists lightly with one hand, pinning them over her head as he licks down her neck. She moans as he carefully nips along her throat and he grins. "Like that, don't you... mmm, sweet Annie..." She moans again, thrusting her hips forward and he leans in to pin her against the wall with his own. "Like me being in control, Ann?"

"Yes... oh, god..." she gasps, "please."

John rocks his hips into her, so hard he's aching. "Like it like this, don't you. Against the wall? Didn't expect that from you, sweet Annie." He continues rocking and they are both gasping in time with his thrusts. His other hand brushes across her blouse as he listens to her whimper, clenching his teeth at how much he wants her. Deftly, he gets her buttons open so he can slip inside, easing a breast out of her bra and thumbing her nipple. "Please," she gasps and he growls, bending over to take the nipple between his teeth, murmuring all the while, "You like this, you love me doing this, you're a bit of a dirty girl, aren't you, Ann?" It's been a long time since he's been like this, filthy and hard and aching, with someone enjoying every second of just how dirty he is being. "You want me under your skirt, don't you, Annie?"

His fingers slide up and under the short hem, stroking her thigh as she bucks toward his touch. "Are you wet for me, Ann, are you... oh _fuck_ ," he groans, reaching her cunt, dripping wet and slick. "God, I'm going to fuck you right here, Annie," he tells her, flicking his fingers over her, making her cry out, "Gonna make you come first, you're so ready aren't you, so fucking wet, Jesus..." He's rubbing her clit harder and she's letting out full-throated cries and it's the hottest goddamned thing he's seen in months, in ages. He's utterly lost control, falling back into a mode he hasn't since the ground was sand dunes and the sky blazing hot. Her legs are shaking and he's wondering if she's going to fall when she lets out a sharp cry in his ear, bucking wildly, coming and gasping and leaning up to be kissed. He can't stand it, he _has_ to fuck her. John pulls his hand away, ready to spin her against the wall and take her from behind when he catches sight of the figure near the doorway of the bar. Sherlock is watching.

John's breath catches in his throat, a sound that might be a name, and Ann turns her head to see Sherlock. She gasps, tugging down her skirt and hurriedly buttoning her blouse, "What the hell? Is this your game, then, John? You get me off while your friend watches?" She pushes John away as he begins to protest, but she bats at him, "You sick fucks!" She takes off down the alley towards the street, heels clattering on the pavement and is gone.

 John is left standing there, watching her disappearing figure. His cock is hard, he's breathless and suddenly incredibly angry. He turns around and Sherlock has come closer. "Are you ready to go home, then?" he asks John, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. And John snaps.

He grabs the lapels of his coat and slams Sherlock against the wall. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Sherlock?  What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

Sherlock, the bastard, looks politely puzzled and condescending, "I was just coming to see if you were finished. I didn't think it would take long."

"Came to see... you were fucking _watching_ , Sherlock. And you _interrupted_." John shakes him, rattling him against the brick. "I was about to fuck her and you..." he stops. Sherlock has suddenly gone still but his breathing is shallow and rapid. John furrows his brow, "Seriously, what the hell, Sherlock? Can't I get something without you having to pry?" He drops his hands from the coat and rubs at his face. "Christ, I'm left here, cock-ready, and you're just standing there." He looks back up, and suddenly catches his breath again. Sherlock looks... oh, Sherlock looks _hungry_. 

John swallows. He _has_ to be reading this wrong. This... Sherlock wouldn't... "Is this some experiment?" John whispers, trying to keep from shouting. "Is this some fucked up experiment to see how I react with women? How I react when I'm cock-blocked?" his voice rises on the last word and there it is again: Sherlock looks... slightly stunned. The blood is singing in John's veins along with the three pints he's had, and he finds himself reaching up to grasp Sherlock's coat lapels again, giving him a rough shake against the wall. And this time Sherlock gasps, trembling.

_Oh, god,_ John thinks, and his hands begin to shake. "You've been watching me when we're out... What else have you been doing?" he asks softly, cocking his head.

Sherlock swallows mutely, his eyes enormous, "John," he whispers.

"Have you been watching me at home? You're not hiding fucking _cameras_ or anything?" John demands, shaking Sherlock again and eliciting another gasp.

"No... but..."

"But what?" John asks, softly, crowding ever so slightly closer to Sherlock's thin frame. This has to be madness, can't possibly be happening here. But Sherlock's body language has changed, become something looser, something defenseless. Something almost submissive.

"I... listen to you," Sherlock answers, barely audible.

John licks his lips, considering. "You like to listen? To what?"

"You. Humming, doing things around the flat. In the shower... and..." Sherlock's voice has died away and his chest is rapidly rising and falling.

"And?" John whispers, crowding even closer, "What else do you like to hear me do, Sherlock?" He's nearly flush against Sherlock's body and this madness seems to be transmitting through his fingertips because Sherlock is leaning closer as well.

"I like to hear you when... " Sherlock's eyes close and he blindly reaches out to settle on John's hips, suddenly pulling him closer and it's John's turn to gasp. Sherlock is gloriously, beautifully hard against him. And John thinks he knows how to proceed.

"You like to hear me when I touch myself? When I come? Is that it?" he's leaned forward, breathing against Sherlock's jaw as he speaks, "Did you like hearing me talk to Ann?"

"Yes," comes the strangled whisper.

"God, Sherlock... you like hearing me do filthy things, is that it?" John's so aroused his head is spinning and he finds himself gripping Sherlock's wrists by his sides. Sherlock lets out a soft moan, and John growls in answer, "Yeah. Your dirty little secret, Sherlock. You like it, you like it filthy, don't you?"

"Please," comes the shattered gasp, "John."

John stands taller and finally, _finally_ , his lips meet with Sherlock's skin, his tongue rasps along Sherlock's throat and a low moan echoes in the alley. He bites down into Sherlock's neck and the moan becomes louder. John pins Sherlock's wrists more firmly against the brick, and amazingly, Sherlock lets him. "God, Sherlock, you filthy... You listened to me wanking in my room? In the shower? And it got you off?" The gasping breaths are answer enough as Sherlock tries to rock against John's hip. "Did you imagine it, Sherlock? Me touching myself? Me stroking my cock?" At that last, Sherlock moans and tilts his head down, trying to reach John's mouth and John pulls back just enough so their lips aren't touching. "God, Sherlock, all those times, all those times I was fucking my fist, did you know I was thinking of you?"

"John, _please_ , I want..."

"And that when I was saying those filthy things to Ann, I wanted to say them to you?"

"John, let me..."

Sherlock is trying harder to kiss John, but John pushes him roughly against the wall again. "Just like I did with Ann, Sherlock. You like that, don't you? God, you're a mess, all prim and proper and all this time you wanted it, didn't you?" John doesn't even know what he's saying or doing anymore, all he knows is that he wants this more than anything in his life and Sherlock is actually reciprocating. John's fingers go to Sherlock's shirt, but Sherlock bats his hand away, rapidly undoing the buttons himself. When John slides his hand inside and pinches a nipple, Sherlock groans and this time, John finds himself reaching up for the kiss. It's dirty and wet and fantastic, all teeth and tongue, and that incredibly plush mouth finally opening under his.

John pulls back, still rubbing at Sherlock's nipple, "You love this, don't you, so fucking dirty... Who'd have imagined Sherlock Holmes, back against the wall in a filthy alleyway... You want this..."

"Yes, John, _do it_ ," Sherlock gasps.

"Do what?" John growls against the skin of Sherlock's neck, "What do you want? Maybe I should just wind you up and leave you hard like you left me?" He pinches the nipple harder and Sherlock moans. John slowly begins to slide his hand down the taut, pale belly, reaching for the fly of Sherlock's trousers, and Sherlock is panting so hard he's shaking. "Stroke you until you're begging," John whispers, slowly lowering the zipper, fingers barely brushing across the thin cotton pants inside. "Get you so fucking close, Sherlock, so close you'll do anything. But you're already there, aren't you?"

Sherlock's hands clench convulsively, scrabbling at John's hips to bring him closer, but John grips the thin wrists. "No, you're going to do what I say. Anything I say, won't you? Anything just to get me to touch you?" He leans over to lick at Sherlock's nipple and Sherlock jolts, hips bucking forward.

"John, I can't think... _please_..." He's panting, perfect mouth hanging open, and John finds his own mouth watering.

"Sherlock Holmes, here against the wall, begging me to touch him. Thought you were untouchable," John taunts, sliding his hand more firmly against Sherlock's cock, but not reaching inside the cotton pants. There's a broken moan and Sherlock's hips are thrusting forward, trying to rock into John's touch. "Like me talking filthy, like me having you like this... God, I should take you home and fuck you over every piece of furniture in the flat," he growls,  rubbing more firmly at Sherlock. "Fucking mark you, make you beg me to let you come... like you're about to, aren't you."

"Yes," Sherlock gasps, rocking his hips faster, "yes."

John's breathing is matching Sherlock's, fast and harsh and out of control. He's gasping out his words now, desperate to see what happens next, "Instead... I think I'll push you down right here... in the filth and mud, on your knees." Sherlock's moan is loud, thrumming in John's chest as he finally reaches in to stroke the hot flesh of his cock. "On your knees, in this dirty alley," he gasps, stroking hard and fast as Sherlock bucks into his fist, "And then make you take it, make you take my cock in those perfect lips of yours, fuck your mouth until I come down your throat and then make you lick me clean..." Before John has finished, Sherlock lets out a harsh cry and is coming over John's hand, bucking wildly and shuddering, nearly sobbing. Head thrown back, he looks utterly wrecked and John pulls him down into a savage kiss, biting at his lips. He's so hard and so frustrated and Sherlock's undoing is _the_ most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.

Sherlock pulls away from the kiss, looking down at John with enormous eyes. His face is completely unguarded, vulnerable and shocked, and John's heart sinks into his stomach. He's ruined it, of course, went too far and just ruined their friendship. He begins to take a step back, but suddenly Sherlock's lips curve into an unmistakable -- and predatory -- smile, and he yanks John back forward by his jumper, kissing him senseless.

John can't help but rut against Sherlock's thigh and he feels Sherlock smile into the kiss, "I think you've waited long enough," he whispers and John moans as Sherlock reaches down to stroke him through the denim. Sherlock makes quick work of his fly and returns to kissing John, devouring his mouth so that when Sherlock reaches in to take John's cock in hand, John's moan is swallowed.

It's so _good_ , so unbelievably _good_ , he never thought Sherlock had this in him. But it's perfect, all slick and slide and thumb swirling over the head until John thinks he's going to lose his mind. "Is this what you wanted?" Sherlock whispers, "When you brought your friend down here?"

"No," John manages to gasp, "I fucking wanted _you_." Sherlock purrs approval and continues to stroke, faster and faster and John's already so close it's not going to matter much _what_ Sherlock does, but when he swirls his thumb over the head of John's cock again, John is bucking and gasping, "Oh _yeah_ , oh _fuck_ , you're so _perfect_ , fucking _love_ , oh, god, make me come, _yeah_..." and Sherlock again swallows his moans with his mouth as John comes so hard that he thinks he might collapse if Sherlock doesn't hold him up. Sherlock withdraws his hand, surreptitiously wiping it on John's jeans, and curves an arm around John, holding him close as John continues to gasp for a moment.

They stand together, John's head buried in Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock's lips in John's hair, both panting a little, shaking a little. John can feel Sherlock's fingers stroking his shoulder and it's everything he's wanted for so long that he has to close his eyes tightly against the feeling that threatens to pour out. He feels Sherlock draw back a little and so he takes a step back as Sherlock leans down, forehead against John's, silently laughing. John can't help but laugh back. "So," he huffs, "you like to watch?"

"No, I like to _listen_ , weren't you paying attention?" Sherlock murmurs back, making John snort.

"Have you always hunted me down when I was chatting up women or getting off upstairs and I just didn't notice?" John teases gently, reaching up to rub his fingers on the back of Sherlock's neck, thrilling to the fact that he actually _gets_ to.

Sherlock sighs, arching slightly into the touch. "No, but... well, it was driving me mad." His luminous eyes stare into John's, "I wanted to fantasise it was _me_ you were making those noises for, _me_ you were talking to like that, and I didn't think you'd want to."

John is floored and has to close his eyes again for a moment, another heady feeling of desire already sweeping through him at the notion Sherlock wanted this all this time. Wants _him_. "You obviously weren't very observant, then," he grins up at Sherlock, who frowns. "Even you can't see everything."

"Hm." Sherlock answers, and then leans down to lick once at John's bottom lip, making John jump. "Well. Let's see if you make the same noises at home with _me_ as you did by yourself." He grins suddenly and turns to walk towards the street. He looks back over his shoulder, "Coming, John?"

"I certainly will be if you keep this up," John mutters, groaning a little as he stretches out tired limbs and hurries to catch up with Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock looks at him as they walk, "I don't want to have to hunt you down anymore."

"You never had to in the first place, idiot," John answers, grinning back, his heart suddenly far too large for his chest as they leave the darkened alley for home. Together.


End file.
